Past Tense
by LM
Summary: Kimono knows all about loss. But can he rouse himself from the past long enough to create a future for himself . . . and provide comfort for a fellow pony as well?
1. Chapter 1

Author's notes:

This is a G3 story, but not based on Hasbro's videos at all, so please consider it an alternate universe if you've seen them. :) Some "female" ponies are male.

The title may change at some point. But I've kicked around a lot of ideas and this is the only one that really "fit" so far.

_Past Tense_ is set before _Wishing Well_, which I promise I will eventually finish. I swear!

* * *

_**Past Tense**_

**_Chapter 1_**

He sat, unmindful of the flowers drifting around his hooves and settling on his deep purple mane. His world had narrowed to a certain patch of ground just beyond the gently sloping hillside, a neat rectangle of short, vibrant grass that sprung up more spryly than the thick waves of coarse, bending meadow grass surrounding it.

Kimono was doing what he did best. Remembering.

_The pony stretched beside him shifted in the darkness, stirring the blankets nestled around them. "Kimono?" _

_"Yes, dear?" _

_"I'm going to have a baby." _

_He didn't reply, but a wave of happiness washed over him. _

A cherry blossom landed on his nose and he blew it off without moving his eyes from the slightly sunken patch of grass. The tulips he had picked earlier, a bright splash of red and pink against the carpeting green, slowly died beneath the sun, no longer beaded with dew.

_"Kimono?" _

_"Yes, darling?" _

_"I'm going to have a baby." _

_"That's wonderful . . ." _

The sun rolled slowly across the sky, passing its blazing zenith and wearily sinking towards the horizon. When Kimono stood at last, his shadow stretched long behind him. He picked a familiar path between the grassy graves, only deviating from his course to avoid the occasional clusters of ponies gathered to weep over a fresh plot of dirt. Kimono was possessive of his grief and did not like to see the emotion reflected on others.

A rough stone wall separated the living from the dead in Ponyville, a mishmash of craggy rocks piled on top of each other, held together only by their own weight. During the winter snow had piled atop the shoulder-high wall and ice had formed in the crevices between the rocks; now it was spring and the stones from the top layer of the wall lay scattered on the ground, more often than not, jarred off balance by the retreating ice that had supported them for so long. The purple stallion replaced a few rocks on his way out. He rebuilt the wall a little more each day.

His hooves clopped against the cobbled path into Ponyville; the scenes before him were so familiar that he didn't notice the cheery, colorful houses mushrooming alongside the road or the castle rearing in the distance. Only once did he pause, and that was when he saw a weathered wood cart with only three sides; it waited in front of a pale pink house, its harness empty for now. A faint wail issued through the walls of the house behind it. Tomorrow there would be new mourners in the cemetery.

Kimono turned his head away and walked on.

A few of the neighbors chatted quietly in the small square that their houses lined. There was an awkward moment when they saw him walking past; the time for murmured condolences had passed, but they hesitated to greet him normally, perhaps sensing that he still mourned. Daisy and Tinka nodded to him while Strawberry, not quite meeting his eye, offered an uncomfortable "Good evening, Kimono."

"Good evening," he said politely, without stopping. The silence hung behind him for a few seconds before his neighbors resumed their gossip.

* * *

Kimono pushed open the neat white gate that led to the little garden in front of his pale yellow stuccoed house. He had not done much gardening recently, but the perennial bulbs still pushed their way up, uncaring of the lack of maintenance. Many of the more fragile plants had not survived the harsh winter anyway, and those that did had largely withered away from neglect. But Kimono had found time to dig the tough, thorny stalks of the rose bushes out from under their protective insulation of pine needles, watering them carefully and pulling out any weeds that dared encroach on them as they slowly unfurled new leaves. 

Kimono pulled the front door open with the slightly frayed, braided tassel hanging from it. Mechanically he wiped his hooves on the mat in front of the doorway before stepping inside. The interior was a smooth display of polished wood, whitewashed walls, and crystal windows. A beautifully carved mahogany table stood in the center of the dining room at chest height, with precisely spaced embroidered cushions encircling it. Clever little shelves built into the walls held delicate trinkets and knickknacks carved far away by slender elven hands.

The purple stallion opened a cupboard in the kitchen (neatly tiled in blue and white), removing a white rag tending slightly to grey after multiple washings and also a feather duster. He polished the table without noticing how the wood already reflected his slender face and dusted the shelves without seeing them.

He put away the cleaning supplies, carefully shut the cupboard, and stood staring blankly for a moment. Then he turned and slowly walked to the door at the end of the hall, gently leaning his shoulder against the panels so that it swung open slowly.

Dust motes floated in the shafts of late afternoon light spilling across the heavy white rugs. The room was buried in heavy ruffles of light pink, from the canopy draped over the bed to the frills cascading around the sides of the walnut dresser. Pastel quilts, sewed carefully by calloused grundle hands, hung from the walls, each one furred with a layer of thin grey dust. Kimono seldom cleaned here; this room was meant to be thought about, not disturbed.

The stallion entered with careful steps that sank into the deep, shaggy rugs. He made his way to the dresser, dipping his head so that his muzzle nearly brushed the dried rose sitting frail and brittle in its crystalline vase beside the brush lying face up, tangled with strands of yellow and pink hair. A yellow terrycloth robe hung from a clothes tree nearby, the soft belt of the garment dangling loose and limp.

Kimono stepped back with ceremonial, almost reverent steps. A half-turn and he was facing the bed, pink ruffles and all. Most ponies slept on low, padded pallets, not raised beds with mattresses, but nevertheless Kimono pulled himself onto the mass of feathery softness without hesitation. He settled himself in the slight indent in the center of the bed. With his front legs stretched in front of him and one bent slightly, he lay there, staring stiffly out of the frills.

_"Kimono?" _

_"Yes, love?" _

_"I'm going to have a foal." _

_"That's wonderful . . ."_

Kimono stayed there while the shadows stretched around him. At last he climbed down, tracked back through the thick rugs, and carefully pulled the door shut behind him. He wandered to the kitchen, ate a little, and curled up on the pallet in his own room, resting his head on his hooves and staring up at the pale moon beyond his window until sleep claimed him.

The sun woke him early the next morning, streaming through the eastward facing window. The purple pony sat up, his muzzle pointing towards the ceiling as he stretched. He stood, shaking away the blue blanket tangled around one of his hind hooves. Kimono rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then turned and shook out the two blankets on his bedding before neatly straightening them on top of his padded sleep pallet. The room was otherwise almost bare, containing only an austere oak wardrobe and a beautiful set of folding screens in the corner, painted with delicate, minimalist mountains and forests fading into dabbles of fog.

Kimono trotted into the garden, pulled a few weeds, and watered the roses as he always did. He nipped off the leaves of some of the edible plants and gulped them down without tasting them. The last of the crocuses were just bursting into bloom in brilliant gold, white, and purple on the shady side of the house, the first flowers of spring which were also the first to die. He paused to pick a full bouquet of them, winding a length of string around their short stems to hold together the explosion of color.

And then he began the long trek to the graveyard.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two**_

The streets of Ponyville were not laid out neatly, but tended to curve and double back on themselves or suddenly dead end just when they should have joined with another major fairway. But Kimono was never in a hurry and didn't mind that his path took him zigzagging halfway across town before circling around and heading out of the suburbs.

Finally the houses began to thin out and the old stone wall rose into view. Leaving the cobblestone road behind him, his footsteps fell upon grass, trampled down into well-worn paths. Kimono drifted along the rows of graves, each marked simply with a gleaming black stone, each one engraved with the name and symbol of the deceased.

The plots began to thin out after a while until finally he walked across almost half a field without seeing a grave. He had not wanted her to be crowded in with the others and he had not wanted to mourn in the eyes of strangers. So he knelt alone with the soft young grass tickling at his knees as he carefully placed the spray of crocuses on her headstone before removing the withered tulips of yesterday and sitting beneath the cherry tree on the rise.

Sitting and thinking.

_"Kimono?" _

_"Yes, dear?" _

_"I'm going to have a foal." _

_He was too happy to speak. _

He lost himself in his ruminations, replaying his memories and sinking into the past, so that he was not certain of the time when he heard a familiar creak-rattle-rattle. He turned his head, disturbing a collection of white petals that had settled on his sleek muzzle; the three-sided funeral cart was making its way through the cemetery as part of a distinctly odd procession.

It was not unusual to see the cart lurching through the tamped down grass, burdened with a figure wrapped in white strips of cloth bound by thin, black string made of silk (for the rich) or simple twine (for the poor.) The cart had appeared more and more frequently of late, in fact, as the result of some sickness that had emerged on the north side of town. The pale green pony in the harness might have been any other bereaved relative bearing a loved one to rest, except for being slightly smaller than most.

No, what made it odd were the others. Six white colts of varying sizes marching on the left, each one with hair striped red and white and a candy cane symbol. Six purple fillies similarly ranging in height marching on the right, each one with hair of orange, pink, and white and a floral symbol.

Quite the family.

Everyone knew that colts were born resembling their fathers and fillies resembling their mothers, until at last they reached adolescence and developed their own colors and symbols. But ponies had such a low birth rate that it had never before occurred to Kimono to wonder what happened when two fillies were born to the same couple, or two colts. Well, apparently they still looked like their mother or father. But _six!_ Of _each!_

Physically he didn't move, but mentally he shook his head in amazement.

He watched them solemnly processing, each colt with a formal black ribbon tied in his tail and each filly with one tied in her mane. (By tradition, the females should have had a ribbon in their manes _and_ their tails, but with so many young ones, surely such an oversight could be forgiven.)

The smallest of the children, one of the purple fillies, tottered awkwardly on the stilt-like legs of early childhood, constantly checking her feet, but the young ponies at the immediate left and right of the cart-puller were really too old to be considered foals. Indeed, as the group drew nearer, Kimono saw that the symbols of those two--the symbols they had shared with their parents--were already fading away. Soon they would have their own colors, their own symbols, their own names. Kimono thought he could see faint splotches of blue already beginning to show through the adolescent male's white coat.

Twelve babies. Well. Wonders never ceased.

Kimono proceeded to shut away the entire incongruity in the back of him mind as "the exception to the rule" and turned back to the familiar rectangle of pale green grass below him. Cherry blossoms descended around him, each one arranged with five perfect, overlapping petals.

_"Kimono?" _

_"Yes, darling?" _

_"I'm--" _

Creak-rattle-creak.

Kimono started from his reverie to find that cart, corpse, and mourners had processed to his remote corner of the cemetery. The babies stood solemnly in their frayed black ribbons, only fidgeting a little as the green stallion knelt and backed out of his harness, which folded and collapsed without his form to fill it. He straightened and turned as the sun highlighted his light pink mane and made the white parts of his peppermint disc symbols seem to blaze. His eyes had a touch of sadness in them, but he smiled encouragingly at the younger ponies as he said, "Well, here we are."

The foals nodded hesitantly at his matter-of-fact voice.

"Everyone okay?" He glanced up and down the rows of diminishing youngsters. Most of them nodded, some with eyes downcast, some gazing up at him. One of the white colts mumbled something about how he didn't like wearing a ribbon, but he scuffed at the grass as he said it, clearly not expecting a response. Unexpectedly it was the oldest filly who let out a muffled sob.

"S-sorry," she choked out, wiping at the tears sending dark streaks down her cheeks.

"Hey . . . hey . . . it's all right." The green pony nuzzled her. "It's all right to cry, Baby Tiger Lily."

She gave a wavering smile and butted his shoulder with her head. "You know I hate being called 'Baby'."

Her face suddenly creased and it seemed like she might break down again, but the young stallion simply nodded and said with mock seriousness, "Yes, I know, BLT," which prompted her to butt him again and exclaim, "And that's even worse!" She straightened, having regained her composure.

The younger ponies slumped in relief, then tensed as a thin wail rose from the back of their ranks. From his hillside, Kimono stretched his neck to catch sight of the youngest baby plumping down on her little purple haunches and squeezing her eyes shut as she bawled. Her siblings gathered around her anxiously, trying to hush her (and one unwisely tried to cover her mouth and was bitten on the leg for his efforts.)

The green stallion pushed carefully through their ranks and lowered down to his front knees so he was at her level. "Tigg--hey. What's the matter, sweetie?"

Her eyes brimmed with tears as her deep purple eyes met his violet ones. "I want Mama!"

"We all miss her." He closed his eyes for an instant, smiling gently as he opened them again. "But she has to go away now. She has to go on a long journey . . ."

"Then I wanna go too!" The little face scrunched up as she pouted.

"No, honey . . . you have to stay here," he told her. He leaned in closer and added in a conspiratorial whisper. "Someone has to make sure BLT doesn't get a fat head after her Naming Day."

"A fat head?" the baby whispered back, stretching her neck to stare intently at her oldest sister, who sighed in exasperation.

"That's right. We don't want her strutting around with her nose in the air just because she doesn't have 'Baby' plunked in front of her name, do we?"

The foal shook her purple head. "She'd run into things."

"Exactly. You'll keep an eye on her and tell me if her noggin starts expanding, won't you?"

The tiny filly nodded, never taking her eyes off him.

"Promise?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I promise, Minty," she said solemnly.

"Good." He straightened and looked at the young ponies gathered around them. "Now let's find Dad."


	3. Chapter 3

**_Chapter Three_**

Kimono was reminded of a flock of sparrows suddenly taking to flight as he watched the children scatter in a confusion of red and white and purple. Some galloped helter-skelter with their noses nearly touching the ground and their manes (white and red or orange, white, and pink, depending on their gender) dragging in the grass; others paced carefully, their hoofsteps marking out a neat grid as their eyes scanned every inch of ground. Kimono stood up when twin colts and a filly circled the rectangle of new grass brightened with crosuses, but the foals retreated after leaning in to examine the polished black marker at the head of the grave, and Kimono sat down again.

The youngsters darted past each other, their paths interweaving as they orbited around the green stallion. He sat on his haunches, calm like the eye of a hurricane, watching the youngest filly as she wandered slowly around the old weathered cart, snuffling through the grass. She looked up suddenly.

"Minty?"

"Uh huh?"

"What did Daddy look like?"

Minty gazed up at the shifting clouds and answered, "He looked just like Baby Candy Cane and Candy and Peppermint and all the other boys, Tigg. Only grown-up."

"Like you?"

"Older than me. Like Mama."

The tiny purple brow creased as she digested this, then . . . "Minty?"

"Uh huh?"

"You said Mama's . . . going away?"

"Uh huh."

She slowly reared to her hind legs, resting one foreleg against the cart wheel for balance. "On a . . . on a trip?"

"That's right . . ."

The baby pony studied the shrouded figure on the bed of the cart carefully before turning towards the green pony. "But how c'n she see where she's going with sheets tied over her?"

"Some paths . . ." Minty's eyes closed, his mouth momentarily trembling into a downturn. "Some paths you don't see with your eyes, Tiggy."

Tigg slowly drew her hoof back from the paint-flecked wood, sinking back to a sitting position. Just then shouts erupted from two of the mid-sized colts who reared excitedly, calling the others as they pawed at the ground.

We found him! Minty! We found him!"

Hoofbeats thudded, muffled by the grass as the entire clan rushed towards the successful colts, gathering in a respectful ring around spring-grown grass that looked no different from any other part of the field. Minty carefully worked his way through the crowd of babies rearing and shoving to get a better view. At last he edged his way into the circle, stepping lightly around the perimeter.

"Where, Peppermint?"

One of the white colts raised a foreleg that trembled with excitement or nervousness, pointing at a spot that looked just the same as any other, except that a barely visible, solid corner of rectangular rock could be seen there. Just the edge, before the grass slid right over it.

The ponies seemed to hold their breath as Minty tilted his head to examine the spot, but at the same time a thin whisper ran around the circle, like a gentle breeze seeping through reeds. Minty pawed at the turf, smudging dirt across his green hoof as he scraped away clumps of sod to reveal a flat stone that shone duskily in the sunlight, as though the sun struggled through the smears of dirt and clinging webs of roots spread across the once-polished surface. The almost-grown Baby Tiger Lily whickered softly as Minty knelt to examine it.

He rose to his hooves, the grass stains all but invisible on his already green knees. "We've found Papa," he said solemnly.

A collective sigh ran through the others and, without moving, they seemed to relax. "We found Papa. We found Papa." The phrase slid through the gathering, soft and respectful.

Minty moved into the crowd of tiny ponies on his right, gently nudging and herding them to the other side of the stone. Like a stream rolling around a stone, they avoided treading on the empty grass surrounding the marker. All the foals watched their oldest brother as he walked with his head down, eyes flickering back and forth as he minutely examined the plot to the right of the stone.

After several minutes of intense scrutiny, he lifted his head, catching the sunlight across his pink mane. "No one's here yet. This spot can be for Mama."

With a simple gesture, he dug his hoof into the soil, tearing up the first piece of sod.

Minty and his two oldest siblings, Candy Cane and Baby Tiger Lily, took the job in turns as dirt churned from the deepening hole in dusty showers. The younger babies watched. Tigg sat solemnly on the old cart, one hoof resting gently against the large linen-wrapped bundle beside her.

Finally Minty gestured Baby Tiger Lily and Candy Cane away with a flick of his tail. He paced evenly along the hole's length and width. (Measuring, thought Kimono.)

"It's done," he declared at last. "Now . . ." He stopped, clearing his throat as though there was something caught in it, but the purple fillies and the white colts were already gathering around the cart, black ribbons bobbing. Two medium sized colts slid the bundle off the cart with care, Tigg helping by pushing it with her head towards the waiting crowd. Little mouths caught hold of the white cloth before it touched the grass, the youngest stumbling in an awkward sideways gait and the elder hardly more graceful as they stretched their necks over the backs of the toddlers. Twelve ponies bore their stiff linen burden in a solemn, lopsided procession.

Minty helped them lower the wrap of white cloth and black cords into the gash in the earth.

"So light," one of the older fillies mumbled, scrubbing at her eyes.

Minty nuzzled her. "Shh, Lilium. What did Mama always say? 'When many bear the load, all burdens are light.'"

Candy Cane appeared at his sisters side, supporting her, as Minty stepped forward and nosed the first ceremonial splatter of rich earth into the grave. Lilium kicked a spray of dirt, head still buried in her brother's mane, and soon the others followed suit.

After every pony had contributed a dusting of earth the oldest ponies, Minty, Baby Tiger Lily, and Candy Cane, pushed scoops of soil and sod over the linen wrapping until it was completely buried. Minty straightened, his hooves and nose besmeared with dirt.

"We love Mama," he said simply. "And even though she had to leave us, we know we'll see her again someday."

"Where, Minty?" Tigg demanded.

"Where rainbows go after the rain."

"An' _when?_"

"Someday."

"But I wanna see her NOW," Tigg proclaimed loudly.

Minty just nuzzled her. "Go find some pretty flowers. We'll leave them on Mama's . . . We'll leave them with Mama." He bumped her forward into the waving grass. Her knobbly legs stretching, she lollopped through the field. The other children stood scattered in ones and twos, staring hard at the grave, or the horizon, or nothing, wiping dirt across their faces as they scrubbed at their eyes.

Kimono blinked suddenly as a gentle cascade of cherry blossoms roused him from his contemplations of the scene below. Standing, he shook the flowers off . . . and stilled as he watched the young filly, Tigg, rushing a bright splash of gold, purple, and white back to her brother.

Minty, lookit what I got for Mama! Maybe it was a trick of the mind, but Kimono could almost see the delicate, bruised veins of the crocuses as the filly proudly presented them to the green stallion.

_Tigg!_ Minty gasped, taking the bouquet from her. No, no, sweetie, these belong to someone else. Kimono stood like a rock, but Minty must have felt his stare; the green pony wheeled slowly and lifted his head, meeting his focused gaze. Then he dropped his eyes back to his baby sister. They belong to that pony on the hill; take them up there and apologize to him.

The crocuses were further scrunched as Tigg held them tight in her mouth, taking a hesistant step forward. But then she ran back, circling behind Minty and pressing her face against his side. He sighed, took the flowers from her, and left her at the foot of the hill.

Kimono watched him climb, his shoulders working and head bobbing as he forded the thick grass, flanks trailed by stalks a darker green than his coat and wildflowers more muted than the bouquet in his mouth. The stallion paused to catch his breath at the top before covering the few remaining steps to Kimono. Transferring the spray of flowers to the crook of his leg, he met Kimonos eyes and grimaced in apology.

Im sorry, Minty said, holding out the purloined flowers. Shes young.

Kimono took them carefully; the short stems had teeth marks on them now and some of the petals were crushed. But then crocuses died quickly in any case. He lowered his head slowly as he set them at his hooves, composing his response. There was no point in saying it was nothing; they knew, both of them, that it was not.

The green pony waited, his purple eyes sincere and his hooves dusty. Kimono turned and gazed down the hill at the baby, who now sat perched on the cart. Too young, he said at last.

Minty followed his eyes and gave the ghost of a sigh. Yes, he agreed, too young. He gave a sad smile. But no one is ever old enough for that, are they?

He didnt respond or even move. But when the other pony turned to go he abruptly turned and said, Im Kimono.

Kimono. Thats a nice name. Im Minty. The green stallion nodded his head politely and seemed to be waiting for something, but Kimono returned to his vigil of the valley before. A minute later the grass swished as Minty retraced his steps. His family gathered around him as he shook the buckles and straps of the harness back into place and pulled the cart out of sight.

Kimono sat until evening with flowers dying at his feet.


End file.
